Kismet (Forevermore, Book One)

Copyright and Legalities

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and locations are either a product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious setting. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or people, living or dead, is strictly coincidental. No part from this book may be used or reproduced without written consent from the author.

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to an online book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Copyright © 2014 by K.A. Poe. All rights reserved.

A Frostbite Publishing Book

Smashwords Edition

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Contents

Copyright and Legalities

Contact Information

Blurb

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

From the Author

About the Author

Also By

Acknowledgements

Blurb

I, like many of you, buy and download dozens of e-books. I get so many great books that often times, by the time I get around reading them, I have forgotten what they are about! For those of you like me, I have included the original blurb to remind you just what you are getting into with Kismet.

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Beware. Sometimes you get what you ask for.

Sixteen-year-old Madison Banner had the perfect life: a good home, great friends, and loving parents. Everything was normal, until she overheard that she had been adopted.

After confronting her parents, Madison was left with more questions than what had been answered. Rules were set. She would be told the truth after she graduated – two years.

As Madison pries into the secrets of her true heritage, she discovers more than she ever bargained for. Strange things begin to happen. Dreams of a mysterious nightly visitor seem all too real. A power within her awakens. There was more handed down through her DNA than dark hair and purple eyes. She has been given a destiny, whether she wanted it or not.

Kismet is the first novel in the follow-up-series to K.A. Poe’s Nevermore, but can be read as a stand-alone series. This novel is approximately 70,000 words in length (340 pages).

Chapter One

My name had been a complicated decision, or so my adoptive parents had told me. Jason, my adoptive father, said that my birth mother wanted to name me after a woman mentioned in some old poem — Lenore from The Raven — but it was decided that it was far too ‘outdated’. Dad and his wife, Eila, were torn between several ideas — Eleanor, Ella, and even Nora. I’m glad I dodged that bullet! Instead, I was given the name that Jason would have had if he’d been born a girl — Madison. All in all, I was happy with the choice … of course I’m probably biased by now. Madison Lenore Banner. It wasn’t my real last name, but there had been rules set in stone that I wasn’t to know my true identity until I was a legal adult. Why? I had no idea; it felt sort of arbitrary. Only two more years, though, and I would learn who I really was.

It was only a week ago that my adoptive parents even opened up about the fact that I was adopted. It was a huge surprise to me, and it made it difficult to focus on much outside of the recently revealed news. There were days where I tried to pretend to myself that it wasn’t true, but with all of the telltale signs that they were clearly not my parents, I had no choice but to believe it. My best friend Serena had pointed out plenty of times that I looked nothing like either of them. I disagreed in some ways, seeing some resemblance between Jason and me … mostly the color of our hair. Mom had gorgeous curls that reminded me of honey and the colors of autumn, whereas Dad’s was dark brown. Mine was black … which wasn’t exactly the same, but it was close enough. Neither of them shared the violet-blue eyes that greeted me every morning in the mirror, either. For some reason, unknown to me, Dad was completely uncomfortable with the color of my eyes. He said it reminded him of a painful memory, but wouldn’t let me in on whatever that was. It was probably another thing I’d have to wait to find out when I turned eighteen.

A voice caught my attention, and I dropped the pencil I’d been using to doodle random swirls in my notebook. I looked up and found Mr. Watcher peering over my shoulder. His last name was all too fitting. Groaning, I stared up into his chestnut brown eyes and gave a meager smile.

If you want to make a passing grade in my class, Ms. Banner, you best stop making pointless art and listen to what I have to say.

Yes, Mr. Watcher, I replied dully and sat up in my chair.

I was a good student, most days. Mr. Watcher’s history class was just boring. He stood up there, in front of the class, with his thick glasses and droned on and on about wars and people that died decades ago. It didn’t interest me at all, and I always struggled to stay focused. It being the final class of the day was the only thing that made it tolerable. With my head perched on my right hand, I stared up at the thin, gawky man as he scrawled something on the chalkboard.

Your homework assignment for tonight is to read chapters fourteen through sixteen and answer the questions on the paper I’m about to hand out, he instructed and began passing papers around the classroom. I expect them to be turned in promptly Monday morning.

There was an abundance of disgruntled sighing throughout the classroom, followed by the screeching of chairs as everyone got up and left the room. I was the last one to leave thanks to my papers falling on the floor, and I could feel the uncomfortable stare of Mr. Watcher following me as I gathered them then exited the room through the beige door.

I wandered along the hall leading away from history class, made a left, and came upon my locker. Ignoring the boys a few lockers down from me, who were making failed attempts at flirting with my best friend as she walked by, I pulled out my backpack and secured it over my shoulders.

Serena Dupont was flamboyant and colorful — bright and whimsical. She didn’t care if her clothing matched, be it her blouse and skirt, or even her socks, as long as they were the same length. I could barely remember seeing the color of her natural hair — the only evidence I had that it was ever blond was in pictures from our childhood. It was now a fluorescent shade of pink; it reminded me in a way of strawberry milk. Two weeks ago, it was dark blue with pale blue highlights. The best thing about her was that, regardless how much her outer appearance changed, she was always the same inside — and it was one of the few things her parents didn’t try to control.

Madison! Serena shrieked and pulled me into a brief hug. This was her typical way of greeting me lately, ever since I had told her about the whole adopted thing.

Hey, I said with a half-hearted smile and adjusted my backpack straps while glaring at the two boys down the hall. Mr. Watcher gave my class homework for the weekend.

Serena noted where I was looking and turned me around, leading me to the exit. "As if that’s a surprise. When doesn’t Mr. Watcher give out homework? I am so glad I don’t have him this year."

I laughed at her remark and followed her down the steps and onto the sidewalk. It was uncommon that Serena walked home with me nowadays. Her parents got her a used car for her birthday six months ago, and for the first few weeks, it was rare that you saw her out of the vehicle. Once the news was revealed that my parents weren’t my parents, she stopped fussing over her car and put all of her focus on me. I guess you could say that was why she’s my best friend — she knew when to put important real-life things above material stuff. She drove me home the first day she took the car to school, but after that I went back to walking. It wasn’t that I was against her driving me, there was just something I loved about being surrounded by the outdoors, and walking home from school gave me plenty of time to enjoy it — there was a sense of freedom to it. Although Dad was completely against the idea of me walking home, especially alone. He was very cautious about me going anywhere and doing anything. Last year he wouldn’t even let me walk to school; I had to be driven by him or Mom anywhere I went. It was like he thought I’d run off at any moment and get myself pregnant, or worse, hooked on drugs. I know he was just being an over-protective parent, trying to keep me safe, but sometimes his behavior bordered on craziness. Thankfully, Mom talked him into letting me go out on my own. Denver was a big city, and my cell phone had a GPS feature installed so if I got lost, or kidnapped as Dad probably thought, they could find me.

Next weekend is going to be awesome! Serena exclaimed as we passed a row of houses, some of them decked out in Halloween décor. Have you decided what you want to carve on your pumpkin?

Serena and I had decided that this year would be our last big Halloween celebration, since we would both be seventeen by the end of next year; it felt like the right stopping place. I loved the holiday ever since I was a little kid, but what child doesn’t like to dress up and go out for free candy?

I lifted my shoulders slightly in a shrug. I was thinking of something simple, like a cat or something.

But Madison, it’s our last big Halloween together. We should do something special!

With a laugh, I shook my head. I think I care more about the party and trick-or-treating than what’s on the pumpkins. We’re going to our first real Halloween party, or did you forget? I think I’ll just focus on costumes.

Obviously I didn’t forget. I guess you’re right, though. Zach’s party is going to be so awesome! She practically jumped in excitement. Everyone knew Serena had a huge crush on Zachary Wilson, aside from the poor fool himself. He was completely oblivious to how she ogled at him ever since fourth grade. She had her eyes set on no one but him, but the other boys at school still tried to get her to change her mind. Maybe he’ll finally get up the courage to ask me to dance.

Maybe you should be the one that asks him?

Her cheeks flushed. No way! You know I can’t.

I frowned and shook my head at my friend. She was so extremely confident of herself in every other aspect. It was weird, but I should have been used to it by then.

The house that I had lived in for as long as I could remember stood before us, the door cracked open and my dad waved over at us. There were ghost and pumpkin window clings attached to the glass of the front window, and although I couldn’t see it at that moment, I knew there was a dangling skeleton on the front of the door. Talking with Serena always made walking home seem to go by faster. Look, we’ll have to talk about all this again later. I’ll text or call you, and we can figure out our costumes and pumpkins or whatever.

Just remember, she spoke in a grave voice, you can’t be a vampire or a witch.

Yeah, yeah. Don’t remind me, I grumbled and glanced at my dad. He would never explain to me why I was restricted from those specific costumes. He wasn’t overly religious or anything, or maybe he was but didn’t want my mom to know that he was? I didn’t know; it didn’t make sense, but neither did a lot of things. Thanks for walking with me.

Anytime, Serena said and hugged me briefly. Don’t forget though, pumpkins TOMORROW! You better at least text me and tell me what time. Bye!

I will. Bye, I said with a wave and stepped toward the front door.

Dad walked into the house and headed straight for the couch, and I was only a few feet behind him. The house was a little cluttered, but I didn’t mind. Not everything in my life had to be structured like school; some clutter here and there was almost comforting, after all, it had been like this for as far back as I could remember. My dad didn’t have a tidy bone in his body, unlike my mom. The cleanliness of the house was in a constant war between Dad messing things up and Mom fixing them. After passing through the front entrance, I could see a pot of something cooking on the gas stove and went to inspect it. Macaroni noodles were boiling rapidly in the silver pot. I stirred it to stop it from sticking to the bottom and ran my hands over the warm steam, letting it pull the cold from my skin.

How was school? Dad asked, watching me from the couch. The TV set was turned off, but the remote was lying directly beside him. He’d probably been watching something before I came home.

It was okay. I left the kitchen and sat in the denim-blue armchair near the window. The backyard was looking like an unkempt forest. I couldn’t remember the last time any landscaping had been done. At least there wasn’t a lot of grass out there. It was mostly rock, aside from the mass of weeds poking up from the ground. I could see the base of the tree house Dad and my uncle Mitchell built for me when I was six. Serena and I had spent so much time in there when we were younger — telling ghost stories, talking about boys, complaining about school, and occasionally playing board games. Some nights, even as a high schooler, I still liked to sleep up there, surrounded by the sounds of nature. Well, until it was silenced by a passing car … which happened more often than I liked.

Homework?

I nodded, glancing toward him again and wiping away the lingering nostalgia. Mr. Watcher, as usual.

Sounds about right, he said with a faint smile. He’d been so distant toward me lately, when usually we’d be laughing about one thing or another, or watching the TV together … not having small talk about school.

You should probably check on your food, I said with a frown before leaving the room.

My bedroom was upstairs, at the very far end of the house, separated from Mom and Dad’s by an unused, mostly empty room. When I made it to my room, I took off my bag and tossed it onto my twin-sized bed which was covered in leopard-print blankets and pillows. I headed into my small, connected bathroom and ran a brush through my hair, untangling a few strands that had been blown about in the breeze. After I was finished, I came out and jumped onto the firm mattress. I pressed my face into one of the pillows and shut my eyes until all the coolness faded from the plush headrest. Something light landed on my back, and I was briefly startled, until I realized what it was.

Willow! I gasped and turned over to view the pure-white cat that stared back at me through her beautiful green eyes. You scared me, girl.

She purred in response and nuzzled my cheek. Willow had been in my life for almost three years now, and she always stayed with me. Even on nights when I slept in the tree house, she followed me up the ladder. Uncle Mitchell — my dad’s brother — gave her to me when he found her as a kitten, lost and alone outside his apartment after he had moved back to Colorado a few years ago. It was love at first sight. Mom and Dad weren’t too keen about the idea of having a cat, but I assured them I would take care of her and even gave up a small portion of my allowance to help pay for her food and litter. I couldn’t imagine not having her in my life. She was the only comfort I’d had the first night I found out about the adoption, and there was no telling how many tears of confusion and abandonment had soaked into her fur.

You wanna do my homework for me, Willow? I asked with a small laugh before groaning and sitting up to retrieve my history book. We were learning about World War II, and it was difficult for me to grasp that any of it actually happened. I rested the book on my lap and smiled at my cat as she curled up in a ball beside me, purring quietly. I turned the pages until I was on chapter fourteen, then stared blankly at the page for ten or more minutes before I finally gave in and began to read. One of the problems I often had when reading for history, was that no matter what, I always heard the words in Mr. Watcher’s slow and boring voice … as if the subject wasn’t tiresome enough already. After reaching halfway through the first chapter, I gave myself a break and stretched my hands over my head and yawned. The faint smell of macaroni and cheese reached my nose through the crack under my door, and I could easily picture Dad lounging on the couch, a bowl in one hand and a fork in the other, while he watched a random sitcom.

He was so different now that he had no job. Years ago, before I was even born, he’d been a store manager at a convenience store in some little town called Willowshire … but he gave that up for Mom so that she could pursue her dream of becoming a baker. He worked for the last thirteen years as a store manager at an electronics store here in Denver, until they went out of business. He’d been applying for jobs all over town for the last three years, although he had moments where he would just give up. Lately, that’s the stage he was in — giving up.

My thoughts were distracted by the sound of the front door opening; Mom was home. I glanced down at my history book and sighed, having barely made any progress. I continued to read until I came to chapter fifteen, only to be distracted again. I could hear my parents arguing downstairs in the living room. Full of curiosity, I climbed out of bed, tip-toed to my door and listened.

Are you crazy?! Mom shrieked, her voice startling me. I’d never heard her talk to him this way. You can’t go back to Willowshire, Jason. Stop holding onto the past. It’s been over fifteen years! For all you know Howard’s doesn’t even exist anymore.

It’s not about the job, Jason replied pathetically.

"It’s her, isn’t it? It’s still her. It’s always her."

The seconds that passed before he replied felt like hours. It feels wrong … keeping them apart now that Madison knows that we’re not her birth parents. And Alex isn’t insane; she never was. Do you know how guilty I’ve felt every day since?

Oh my God, Jason, really? Get over it. Get over her. You don’t see me crying about Mark Taylor.

Who?

Some high school crush … look, forget it, I was just trying to make a point. How many times are we going to have this same damn conversation?

What in the world were they talking about? Jason liked another woman? Back in Willowshire? I forgot all about my homework and